Happiness
by CellarGangGirl
Summary: Even though he nearly gets the ever-living-crap beaten out of him by a couple of burly biker homophobes, Sam's recent success and Dean's well-oiled life as a mechanic means everything is peachy keen. Or is there something Dean doesn't know? RATED M, if this has popped up you know why, so don't give me hell for homosexual relations found within.


AN: Wow guys, why are both of my stories drunk!Destiel stories? I'm so weird. Don't worry, there are some in the works that don't include intoxicated boys, just adorable ones. Not that many of you mind, I'm sure. ;) Well, I bring you mindless oneshot PWP. You guys, I seriously don't understand where these ideas even come from anymore.

Word Count: ~11,160

Disclaimer: Oh please. If I had the authority to make things like this canon, what the hell would I be doing here? Then again, I'm pretty sure the SPN writers _are_ the biggest group of trolls ever... Ah well. Sadly, I'm not one of them; just a lonely Becky writing to my heart's content.

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"I'm telling you man, relish it - it's gotta be the first time a Winchester's ever been considered smart."

Dean threw back a shot of whiskey, slamming the shot glass back down onto the table with a clack. The bar waitress who'd brought them the free shot - complimentary for celebrations, though Sammy had refused it - smiled invitingly at him as she leaned over much further than necessary to swipe the miniature glass from the table. He gave her a charming smile and a wink, though she stood no chance - tonight was Sammy's night.

"_I'm_ telling _you_ Dean, it's not that big of a deal. Besides, I already celebrated with Jess." Sam frowned modestly, pushing his beer around between his giant paws. Dean rolled his eyes at his antics.

"We're celebrating, Sammy. Get over it. You passed your bar-whatever. You can be an actual lawyer now, man. I barely even got through high school." He lifted his own beer to his lips, not taking his eyes off of Sam as he took a swig. As typical when he received praise, Sam's cheeks were pink, even through his Kansas-born tanned skin. It didn't help that he'd been living with Jess in California at Stanford until last semester, when he'd decided to take online classes and move back home with his soon-to-be fiancé (if he ever got his ass in gear).

He knew that there was still a long way to go before Sam was representing people, but he was really far too humble. People would walk all over him. Dean almost started to wonder how he'd gotten that way, before the ringtone crooning from Sam's pocket distracted him. He groaned.

"What the hell is that?" It was a song, which only got louder as Sammy slid the phone out of his pocket. Dean could have sworn he'd heard it in one of those animal shelter commercials that tried to depress people into adopting animals.

"It's my ringtone for Jess. Don't even start." The phone mercifully stopped ringing before Dean had to disregard the command, and Sam frowned down at it, sliding out the keyboard.

"I realized you were a nerd, but I didn't realize you'd become a chick. What the hell do they do to you guys in California? Complimentary vagina's part of the welcome package?" He teased. Sam rolled his eyes without taking his attention from the phone.

"Well, I guess I'll just have to start frequenting that gay bar with you, huh? There a lot of lesbians there?" The hunched-over giant teased right back, slipping the keyboard back and lifting the phone to his ear.

"Bitch." Dean deadpanned at him, though he wasn't really hurt by the joke. He'd long since come to terms with the fact of being equally attracted to men and women. Hell, his sex life had flourished since he had. Some chicks dug it, and the threesomes were fucking _fantastic_.

"Jerk." Sam replied before his face lit up like Christmas had come early, and Dean knew he'd lost him.

"Hey Jess. You called?" Dean took another swig of his beer, looking around the fairly busy bar as Sam sat listening intently to whatever the blonde angel on the other end of the phone was saying. There was a pretty nice-looking guy at the bar that he would definitely work some charm on if Sammy weren't here and if this were a different bar.

"Well are you alright?" Sam's question and the worry laced through it brought Dean's attention off the guy at the bar and back to the reason he was here. The fright on Sam's face smoothed away, calming Dean as well.

"Yeah, sure. I'll be home asap, don't worry." There was a short pause and an adoring, goofy smile. "Love you too, Jess. Be there in a few." He hung up the phone and stood up, slipping into his jacket. Dean just watched him, nursing his beer at his lips in silence until Sam decided it was time to acknowledge the age-old "sharing is caring" platitude.

"The wiring in the kitchen shorted again. The microwave started a small fire, but she noticed and got it put out before anything bad really happened. But I guess the manager's there talking about evicting us because it's the second time this has happened. She still doesn't have a handle on how to talk to the people here; they were way more laid back in Cali. You gonna be okay walking home?" Dean nodded in silent reply. His apartment wasn't that far, only about five blocks. Easily within walking distance, even when he was hammered - Dean took his alcohol with grace. Besides, Sam needed to get home for Jess.

"Tell little sis if she wants to move out so bad, all she has to do is flutter those lashes of hers at you and you'll do anything for her. Ain't no need to resort to setting house fires." He joked by way of dismissal. Sam grunted in annoyance, but left with nothing more than a flash of the bird and a 'See you, jerk' tossed over his shoulder.

Dean continued slowly sucking down what was left of his beer until it was gone, scoping out the crowd. There were working men, frat boys, a few tatted bikers lounging in the back. A couple groups of chicks here and there who clung to each other like they thought they were gonna get raped if they lost contact with the rest of the group for even a second. All-in-all, a pretty decent crowd for a Friday night with nothing better to offer than a hockey game that only a few people were passively watching. Hockey wasn't really a Kansas sport; these were more rugby boys.

Setting his now-empty bottle down on the scarred wooden table, he reached out and brought Sammy's half-finished one up to his lips. Dean was a firm believer in not letting beer - or any other type of alcohol - go to waste.

Before he could take two sips, a large, meaty hand slapped down heavily on his shoulder and yanked him off of his seat. He found his footing quickly and, beer still in hand, turned toward the offending person. He was only halfway facing the two heavy bikers when he noted the menace in their eyes. His body seized up when the one who'd tugged him off his perch slammed the same meaty fist into his gut.

Doubling over, Dean tried not to give in to his now-overactive gag reflex. He took a deep breath through his nose and, counting his losses, dropped the beer to the floor. As close as he was, doubled over like this, the bottle didn't shatter but merely landed with a loud crack and rolled away, trailing frothy liquid. As quiet as it was in the crowded bar now, Dean didn't have to lift his head to know that everyone was staring. When he felt his stomach calm, he gasped in a breath and stood up straight again.

The two bikers were each easily double his weight and taller too, but he'd been known to take on worse odds. He opened his mouth to ask what the hell was going on, but didn't get very far.

"Sick fuck. We heard you and your little friend. This ain't no fag bar, so why don't you just tail it outta here. Your kind ain't welcome." The one that hadn't punched him spat with obvious disgust. Dean just barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. _Of course_, it was only Winchester luck that Sammy would bring up the other bar he frequented in the hearing range of the two nastiest homophobes Dean had ever seen. He should have just agreed and slapped down a twenty for the drinks - the waitress wouldn't mind being short a couple bucks if she got to avoid a rumble. He should've, but he just couldn't avoid brawls, especially when he was drunk.

"Oh, I would, believe me boys. But see, I was enjoying myself a beer - which you seem to have made me spill, by the way. So I think instead, I'll go sit at the bar and grab myself another." It was clearly the wrong thing to say, because meaty biker number one came at him before he could take a step away.

Dean sidestepped the punch and used the biker's lumbering speed and body weight to propel him on into a table of frat guys who jumped back at the last second. He crashed into it, unable to stop, and smacked his head against the edge as he fell, landing unconscious on the floor as the people nearest began to back away from the fight.

A short minute later, the biker's friend joined him on the floor at the base of the overturned table, a nice black eye forming and a tooth knocked loose. Dean brushed off his shirt and frowned down at the drunk guys for a moment before turning to set a twenty and his last few ones on the table. He didn't really care if he was short at this precise moment - he wasn't waiting around to break a fifty. Tugging on his jacket, he made his way to the door, the crowd parting in front of him like the red sea.

It was windy outside, but a regardlessly warm Kansas summer night. He walked to the nearest bench and sat down, rubbing his abused knuckles gingerly. This was supposed to be a nice, celebratory night. Grumbling, he dug into his pocket to fish out his cell phone. He pulled up Sam's number and relaxed, eyes on the door of the bar just in case, as the phone rang. Sam finally picked up on the last ring.

"Dean? You okay?" He sounded a little worried, but thankfully not too harried.

"Yeah, 'm fine." There was no need to worry him; it wasn't Sammy's fault that some people were close-minded bastards. "I'm headed home. Just wanted to make sure everything was okay with you guys." He said. A flash of headlights came from down the road and he decided that he would take the bus for once. He was feeling a little dizzy from the fight, and he really didn't like the idea of getting jumped on the way home by any friends those assholes might have.

"Oh, yeah. I guess Jess talked the manager into going halvsies on the bill for a better electrician to fix the wiring this time." Sam said. There was a rustling through the phone as Jess shouted somewhere in the background.

"Hey, we ordered pizza and the delivery kid's here. So I'll talk to you tomorrow, alright?" Sam questioned. Dean nodded to himself.

"Yeah sure. Glad Jess is settling in." It was remarkable she'd talked their building manager into anything - Dean had moved out of that building half a year before Sam had come back because the guy was such a dick. But then, she'd also gotten Sam to say things like 'halvsies' so he guessed he shouldn't be too surprised. They hung up without another word, and Dean stood as the bus approached the stop he'd thankfully sat at. It stopped in front of him with a hiss, doors creaking open. He stepped up and paid the driver with quarters he dug from the recesses of his pockets before heading back into the almost-empty seats.

There was a guy all the way at the back who immediately caught Dean's eye. His dark hair was a shock against the light interior of the harshly-lit bus, and his eyes shone an equally shocking blue, even from this distance. Dean wobbled on his feet as the bus started rolling again though, so he took a seat halfway back, resigned to facing forward for the rest of the short ride. It was a shame the guy wasn't sitting closer to the front, because Dean would have gladly shuffled his way all the way to the back on more steady legs to look at him - this guy had to be the hottest guy he'd ever seen. It was just typical that he was most likely a homophobe just like those guys at the bar. Most of the gay community in town congregated at the two gay bars the city offered; everyone knew everyone, and this was not a familiar face.

He stood up and made his way to the front as the bus neared his stop, resigned not to tease himself with what he couldn't have. He stepped down onto the sidewalk when the bus stopped and started off down to the corner. It was only when he reached the door to his building and started to dig out his keys that he realized there were footsteps following him. He stilled and listened intently, his head tilting a little to the side. Finally, when the footfalls sounded like they were coming within feet of him, he whipped around to face the assailant.

He paused, blinking in confusion. Behind him stood the guy from the bus, looking contrite with his hands held up in surrender. Dean realized after a long moment that he had his key in his hand pointed menacingly at the guy, who was still staring at him with wide, earnest eyes. Confused, he lowered his hand.

"I'm sorry for startling you. You look injured though, and I was wondering if you would like some medical assistance..." The guy had a lower voice than Dean would've expected from looking at him. It had a growling sort of quality that shot straight through him, regardless of the words he was saying and anything Dean thought he'd resigned himself to.

"Medical...? Who the fuck talks like that, man? And what the hell, you don't just stalk people home from the bus." He could feel the incredulous look on his face. In all his days, he'd never heard of something as weird as this - and he'd heard some crazy shit. He cast a surreptitious look around the block just to make sure - just because the dude was hot as fuck didn't mean he wasn't a bad bastard. His eyes flicked back to the guy as he lowered his hands slowly, clearly trying to seem as non-threatening as possible.

"I speak like this, clearly. And I am very sorry for startling you; I merely assumed you would not accept help if I had offered it at the bus stop. You seemed to be in a bit of a hurry." The guy said. His eyes were wide, a deep navy blue in the weak yellow light cast by the bulb above the door. They were far too earnest for Dean's alcohol-addled brain. He took a breath.

"Yeah, well. I'm a little smashed, if you hadn't realized. And maybe you didn't notice, but I've been in a fight. So I kinda just want to get inside." He said, rough in an attempt to make the guy go away. Instead, those baby blues only got bigger as he stepped up to Dean.

"Yes, of course. I'm sorry - it was not my intention to hold you outdoors." Dean frowned down at the other guy for a moment, but the beer in his system allowed him to forget about it and turn to fit his key in the lock. His hands were wavering a bit as the alcohol started to take effect though, and it certainly didn't help that his head whipped to the side nearly quick enough to give him whiplash when he heard the distinct grumbling of motorcycles down the street. A gentle hand pressed over his own, prying the key out of his grasp.

"Here, allow me." Baby-blues whispered to him as he slotted the key in the lock and turned the knob with ease. The door swung open, and since he could see the three bikers that were about to turn down this road, Dean didn't fight the warm hand that gently pushed him inside by his lower back. Besides, it wasn't like Dean had never led some dude in there the same way.

"So, what's your name, Blue Eyes?" He queried as he heard the door shut and his keys jingle in the stranger's hand. The man seemed to pause before following him over to the stairway that lead up to Dean's floor. Dean hissed as his raw knuckles smacked against the banister.

"My name is Castiel Novak. I live right over on Lincoln street." There was a rustle of fabric that said he was gesturing behind them in the direction of the street. Dean frowned as he processed the name.

"Castiel? What the hell kind of name is that? Your parents must have hated you." He declared as he stepped onto the second floor landing, Castiel close behind. Dean gave him a look before turning back to head down the hall to his apartment, the last one on the right.

"On the contrary, they loved me very much. Castiel is the name of an angel; the angel of Thursday." The guy seemed to puff up without actually changing his posture any. Dean rolled his eyes as he came to a stop at his door. Angel boy was proud of his name, apparently. Dean couldn't see why, when it was so clear that the guy had to have endured huge amounts of bullying for it in his youth. If not because of the name, then because of the way he talked.

"Weren't you kinda pissed though? You must have been bullied." He nodded when Castiel held up the key to the room in question. His lips quirked into an awkward half-smile that Dean could barely pull his eyes away from. He couldn't help but wonder how soft those lips were, how sweet the guy would taste. He shook his head to clear it.

"I was home schooled. It's Dean, isn't it?" He questioned as the lock clicked and he stepped into the apartment first. If Dean weren't so hammered, he would've at least had the humility to be a little embarrassed about the mess - there were dirty clothes everywhere, an empty pizza box on the low coffee table, bills and other mail torn open on one end of the couch, and dishes piled high in the sink that was visible from the doorway. As it was, he simply sighed and kicked the door shut behind him before removing his jacket and flopping down onto the couch. The motion made his shoulder ache and he groaned as he tried to make himself more comfortable.

"Where is your bathroom?" Castiel asked. Dean was vaguely aware that he'd already been asked a question, but he couldn't be bothered to remember what it had been, so he merely pointed at the short hallway that led to both the bathroom and his bedroom.

"On the right." He groaned, trying to sink into the couch. Castiel disappeared down the hall and into the open bathroom. There was a rustling and the banging of cabinets being opened and closed for a few moments before Castiel emerged, carrying a blue box with a red cross on it. Dean thought it must have been left from the last tenant and he'd never thought to throw it away. He himself was more of a 'suck it up and let it scab over' kind of guy. Clearly, that wasn't this Castiel guy's ideology.

Setting the box on the clean cushion next to Dean, Castiel sunk to his knees before him. Dean could hardly keep his eyebrows from shooting up to attempt to meet his hairline - everyone knew that was a sexual position to be avoided at all costs, particularly between two guys. He couldn't tell if this guy even knew that though, or if he was actually so weird he was completely oblivious. As Castiel opened a bottle of peroxide and the smell made Dean want to gag, he decided it didn't really matter.

"This will sting, I think." Castiel said before lightly grabbing Dean's hand and pouring a little bit of the liquid over his split knuckles. His grip tightened before Dean could yank the hand away, hissing through his teeth at the sting. Castiel balanced the bottle precariously on the corner of the coffee table behind him before returning his attention back to Dean's hand. He dabbed at the knuckles with a handful of wadded-up toilet paper before letting it rest on Dean's thigh. He reached back into the first aid box and removed a yellow squeeze tube, uncapping it deftly. Muttering something about the stuff being cold, he squeezed some onto his fingers before rubbing it carefully over the open knuckles. His clean hand produced two bandaids from the box and he somehow managed to get those to stay on Dean's hand before he could even interrupt.

"You a doctor or something, Cas?" He asked, inspecting the hand as Castiel twisted the top back onto the bottle of peroxide. He didn't bother questioning if the other man was okay with the nickname. Truth was, Dean didn't really care in his drunken state. His hand hurt a little less, and that was good enough to warrant a simple nickname.

Castiel stared up at him with those wide blue eyes for a second before turning his attention to returning the items to the box.

"No, of course not. I am merely a concerned citizen. Are you injured anywhere else, Dean?" Dean's brain fumbled for an answer when he remembered, in a moment of half-clarity, that he hadn't told Castiel his name.

"How do you know my name?" He questioned suspiciously, pulling his lax fist back from his leg. He was ready to tighten it, scraped knuckles or no, if he so needed to - he was not about to get attacked twice in the same night, and he hadn't actually verified that this guy wasn't connected to the bikers. It seemed like a long shot, but still. Castiel's eyes flashed up at him through his thick eyelashes though, momentarily distracting him from his own question.

"My brother." Which Dean wasn't too far gone to notice wasn't an actual answer. Luckily, Castiel continued without prompting as he stood and headed back to the bathroom with the first aid kit, allowing Dean to relax minutely.

"You're his mechanic. He took a photo with you and his car last week; his name is Gabriel." Castiel called from the end of the hall. Dean's memory wasn't exactly working at full capacity, but he thought the name sounded vaguely familiar, and he definitely remembered taking a picture. Castiel padded quietly back into view.

"But you must be busy, in a big city like this. He has a 1973 Mustang. Black, with orange stripes up the middle." The description of the car brought the memory into focus. He snorted in a completely undignified way, which made Castiel give a small amused smile. Dean decided that he definitely needed to see that again.

"Yeah, I remember him. Crazy fucking prankster, right? Bobby fucking hated him; 's why I got to be his mechanic in the first place, 'cause Bobby couldn't stand dealing with him. Nice car, though. Had that baby purring right in no time. He gonna take good care of her?" Dean questioned. Probably more information than the guy needed, especially on Bobby's opinion of his brother, but Dean couldn't bring himself to really care.

Cars, before anything else, had always been Dean's one true love. It probably had something to do with Winchester Senior being a travelling Derby driver and leaving Sam and Dean in the careful hands of family friend Bobby Singer, best mechanic this side of the Mississippi. Most people found Dean's love of cars weird - which contributed in no small part to his severe lack of friends outside of family. If the smile Castiel granted him again was anything to go by, he found it amusing. Or at the very least, intriguing, which Dean could work with.

"He is not a car fanatic by any means, but he will take good care of it, yes. If only to show off; that is Gabriel's nature." Castiel's response was good enough to keep Dean happy; he liked to show off his baby, too. Rule Number One of showing off your car: it had to be in top shape to maintain the proper level of inspired awe.

"So long as you tell him to bring her back to me if there're any problems. I don't want some crap mechanic dicking around inside her, just making shit worse." He knew he was acting like he was the only competent mechanic around, and Bobby usually smacked him upside the head when he started talking like that, but Bobby wasn't here. What the old guy didn't know wouldn't hurt him. Besides, Cas didn't seem like the type of guy to parade around bitching about Dean's less-than-stellar customer relations.

"I'm sure he'll turn to no one else for her safety." Cas assured. Dean thought he caught a bit of sarcasm in there, but he was too drunk to care about defending himself to this guy, cute as he may be. He rolled his eyes instead and attempted to sink into the couch once more. The attempt went over about as well as it had the first time, meaning that the muscle in his shoulder protested greatly.

He was just deciding that he must've pulled it beating down Jekyll and Hyde back in the bar when he noticed Cas taking a seat next to him - apparently the guy wasn't as oblivious as his speech patterns suggested. The guy really needed to learn to make more noise when he moved, though, and he told him so. The confused look Castiel adopted, tilting his head to the side as though that would help him see the situation better, was almost worth the complete lack of filter Dean had affected with the consumption of beer.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean. I had asked you if you were injured elsewhere; what is hurting?" Castiel questioned in that weird way of his. Dean was beginning to suspect that was actually how the guy talked all the time. He was surprised when Cas laid a gentle hand on his arm, and he wasn't sure why; the hand was warm and in no way invasive.

"Calm down, Dean." Cas pacified him. "I assure you, I am quite skilled in the art of giving massages to drunks. Gabriel has given me quite a sufficient amount of practice - he still comes to me on particularly rough nights, although we no longer share an apartment." Dean rolled the words around in his head for a moment, not particularly enjoying being referred to as a 'drunk', but he honestly wondered if there was any way he would have refused the offer, drunk or no. Probably not.

Shrugging his shoulders indicatively, he allowed Castiel to turn him away, pressing down lightly between his shoulder blades to get him to lay over the arm of the couch. The position was made slightly awkward by his legs, which were still hanging off the couch normally. Castiel remedied that quickly, lifting them up to stretch the length of the couch, feet resting carelessly atop the pile of mail at the far end.

It became awkward in a whole other way when Castiel threw a leg over Dean's hips to straddle him. It took a hell of a lot of effort not to grind down into the couch, although he had never bottomed before. That shit required trust, and Dean Winchester was not known for giving that shit out left and right. But damn if it didn't sound good right about now, with Castiel's weight lightly pressing him into the cushions of his couch.

"Is it your shoulders, or your back?" The question caught him off guard, and he had to clear his throat before responding.

"Shoulders." He kept it short, not trusting his alcohol-loosened tongue to keep his secrets in check. As it was, he had to bite back a savage moan when Castiel's knuckles dug into the strained muscles.

_God_, it felt like Heaven. Cas hadn't been lying - he had some serious skill going for him here. His strong fingers made quick work of a knot that had been bugging Dean all week, and he let out a grateful sigh, relaxing over the edge of the couch. He could swear that he could feel Castiel's amusement through the guy's fingers.

"Christ, you weren't kidding. Shit, you could get paid some serious dough for this." He couldn't help expounding on Castiel's skills; it appeared that massages worked as well as alcohol on loosening his tongue. There was a rough chuckle from above him, and no way could he have stopped his body's carnal reaction to _that_.

"I do believe that one needs to go through schooling to become a proper masseuse. Besides, I do not think that it would be the wisest career move for me at this point." He had no idea what that meant, but the comment seemed as close to humor as Castiel got, so he let out a lazy chuckle. Cas worked another knot loose and he couldn't hold back the moan this time.

Castiel shifted above him, but otherwise seemed unaffected by the sound. If he'd been in his right mind, Dean would have counted his blessings and gone back to fervently attempting to stay silent. As he'd noted earlier, this guy wasn't from the meager gay scene the city offered. He wasn't, however, in his right mind, and so he took the lack of reaction less as a blessing and more as a personal insult. He was laid out at Cas' mercy, moaning for him, and the guy couldn't even get a courtesy boner? What the hell; he was hot, thank you very fucking much.

Deciding it was the quickest way to get a reaction one way or the other, he shifted his hips, hard and sudden, against Castiel's. The man's fingers stalled against his shoulders, which really hadn't been the reaction he'd been hoping for. However, he wasn't in a position to tell any physical reactions below that didn't include rutting back against him, and he couldn't see Cas' face. The guy made no sound and resumed his massage after a moment, so Dean assumed that he still had not caused any effect. He frowned in concentration, trying to tell what was going on with the guy behind him. There was absolutely no way Castiel hadn't noticed that, but the guy refused to react. This could mean that either he was turned on and didn't feel comfortable with it, or that he was an incredible homophobe and was just refusing what was happening. Either way, Dean was too turned on right now for them to stay in limbo like this, so as soon as Castiel worked another knot loose, he groaned and bucked his hips down into the couch.

This had the desired reaction. While his hips broke contact with Castiel's warm weight, Cas' thighs tightened minutely around him, fingers faltering. All of this was circumstantial of course - and points to Dean for the three dollar word use while smashed and turned on - but was cemented on the side of _definitely good_ by the hitch in breath he just barely caught from behind him. He rolled his hips back and then down into the cushions again just to be sure, and yup, those were the same reactions. Fight at the bar be damned; this was a good fucking night. Maybe the best Dean'd had in a long while. Rolling over - the massage all but forgotten at this point - he fixed his eyes with Castiel's darkened blue ones.

"Dean, no. You're drunk; I highly doubt you're even aware of what's happening here." Castiel was the first to break the silence. His voice had somehow gotten even more gravelly, and now he sounded like a two-pack-a-day smoker. Dean couldn't help but find it hot as fuck, especially when paired with that dark blue fire locked on him like he was the only thing that mattered. His hips rocked up against Castiel's and the eyes were momentarily hidden behind pale lids as Cas tried to remain in control. Party-pooper.

"Cas, I never _don't_ know what's happening when shit like this is happening. Hey, if you didn't want to fuck, you shouldn't have gotten all up on me, rubbing up against me like that." While it had, in fairness, been only his hands that had been rubbing Dean, there was no way Dean was gonna let this go, drunk or not. Cas groaned a little, unwittingly adding fuel to the fire. When he opened his eyes again, it was to find an unreasonably wide smirk on Dean's lips.

"Hey, c'mon; drunk guy meets a hot guy on the bus, they take things upstairs... When is that _not _a good story?" No discernable reaction. "Come on Castiel, live a little." He seemed like the type who ran a tight ship, and he probably got poked at quite a bit for it, with a brother like Gabriel - so he worked that angle.

His assumption was proven accurate by the volatile response his words received. Castiel's lips were on his in barely the space of a heartbeat, pressing Dean down into the scratchy fabric of the couch and leaving no room for misunderstanding: this was going all the way. While Dean was a bit taken aback - he'd assumed he would have to be the one to make the first move - he didn't allow that to slow him down at all. He threw himself into the kiss, nipping at Cas' lips and chasing his tongue, flicking repeatedly against the corner of Cas' mouth when he realized it caused the man's hips to jerk forward without his express consent. Although he was still trapped between the guy's thighs, he'd honestly never felt more in control in any of his sexual encounters.

After a few blissful minutes of tonsil-hockey, it seemed that Castiel had, regretfully, somehow managed to gather some of his wits about himself. Much to Dean's dismay, he pulled back from the kiss, which had gotten pretty heated, and took a deep breath to steady himself.

"Dean, think about this. You're not going to have sex with a man you just met on the bus. You barely know my name." Apparently in Castiel's mind, this was a valid argument. Dean, however, had convinced guys into threesomes in the straightest bar in town while piss drunk, so this was really old hat to him. Besides, perhaps as a joyous inheritance from his drunk father, Dean didn't have that difficulty remembering what he did when he was drunk, so this was all something he knew he'd remember perfectly well - and smile at, to boot - in the morning. Cas' argument fell apart before he'd even started. He rolled his eyes up at the reluctant man.

"Oh come on, are you serious? Cas, I may be drunk, but I'm not stupid. Well, so long as you don't ask Sammy." Hard to imagine this night had started with him celebrating with Sam, the ninny. But hey, he was still celebrating for his baby brother - just with someone else, and in a _much_ more enjoyable way. He shook his head to get back on track.

"Anyway, drinking doesn't hinder my tastes in men; if anything it improves it. So why don't you just bring those lips back down here and let loose a little. You'd think you were raised in a damn convent or something." He complained. There was a severe lack of lip contact happening here, and that was not the sort of thing Dean enjoyed while drunk. He only got drunk for two reasons: to celebrate and to wallow in misery. Since he wasn't sitting alone at the half-cleared kitchen table in the dark with only a bottle of Jack to keep him company, his body demanded some celebrating, like right-the-fuck-now. He rocked his hips against Castiel's again to _show_ him just how much he wanted it.

The comment seemed to get to him again - score two for the drunk - and they were locked together at the lips once more. Not about to allow Cas to escape again, Dean took it upon himself to roll them over, reverse the roles a little. As it turned out, drunks should not attempt such difficult manoeuvres on the couch. After nearly falling off twice and getting his arm caught under Castiel in the crack of the cushions, the other man pulled away, laughing at his misfortune. Dean did not take kindly to either of these new developments.

"Dean, what are you doing?" There was a chuckle in the question that, while attractive, was really not what he wanted to hear right now.

"Dammit. I need to get you under me; you are _not_ pulling away from this again." He argued without any real opposition aside from the couch cushions, which were still valiantly trying to eat his arm. Castiel chuckled without the cover of speech this time.

"I hate to break it to you, but I need to get up." Dean was fairly certain that nobody had ever given a more incredulous look than he gave Castiel in that moment. The man only smiled at him though before untwisting his legs from where they were wrapped in Dean's and standing up. He turned an unimpressed look down on Dean, who was not ashamed to admit that he pouted. That may have been the alcohol, though.

"Dean, I am not having sex with you on your couch. This is hardly the place, and as you found out, it is not the most flexible environment." His words redeemed him instantly in Dean's eyes. Stumbling slightly, he couldn't get off the couch fast enough, and simply trailed after Cas back to his bedroom.

The room was probably actually the cleanest in his entire apartment, if only because he spent the least time in here. Unless he was sleeping or having sex, he was elsewhere. Neither of those activities were ones that lent themselves to making much of a mess - well, a mess that wasn't cleaned up when everyone got dressed again. Cas, bless him, stripped off his shirt as soon as he crossed through the door, tossing it somewhere into the darkness. Dean watched the play of the lean muscles in his back as he crawled across Dean's bed before flopping down on the mattress.

"Your turn." His muffled words came up from the pillow where his face had landed, and Dean snorted in amusement. He stripped off his own shirt before joining Cas - two could play that game.

"How is that fair? I had to make do with you through my clothes, but you get to skip straight to skin-on-skin contact?" He dropped to slide his chest along Castiel's back as he crawled up on top of the lithe man. While Dean had some bulk on him - came with the mechanic territory - Cas was all deceptive lean muscle that you didn't notice until you saw him naked. Dean decided it was quite nice. There was a small moan from below that implied Castiel appreciated him in return. He smirked to himself in the darkness.

"To be fair, neither of us would be here right now if I hadn't made the first move for you. I think I deserve a reward." Castiel mumbled, barely lifting his head from the pillow. Dean rolled his eyes and trailed his nails up Cas' sides lightly, relishing in the shivers that ran down the man's spine. He lowered his lips to Cas' ear, trailing his tongue over the outer shell.

"But we wouldn't be here right now if it were solely up to you, either. Too afraid to just go for gold there, Cassie?" He teased, whispering the words into the ear he held at his mercy. Much like with everyone, this appeared to be an incredible turn-on for Cas; there was an interesting combination of shivering, hips bucking, and fingers twisting into sheets that Dean thought he _definitely_ needed to see again. Apparently the guy could bullshit through arousal like no other though, because he gave as well as he got, regardless. He twined a leg through Dean's and used it to flip them over, landing like a cat above Dean. His eyes glinted with amusement in the dark.

"And _you're_ getting a bit too friendly for a one night stand, Dean-o." It was clear that Gabriel had passed that particular nickname on to Castiel in case he ever ran into him. God he hated that; he supposed he must have hit a nerve with 'Cassie'. He came back with the first thing that came to mind.

"Hey, it doesn't have to be one night if you don't want it to be." Which, well, that put a brief pause on things. Castiel looked down on him with nothing short of shock across his face, and Dean could only guess that his face mirrored the expression back up at him.

It wasn't an invitation he'd ever extended to anyone before, but he'd be damned if he didn't feel it, just a little. That twitch was there, the one that told him that sex with strangers was fun, but it wasn't the way he wanted to spend his life. He did want to settle down, at least a little bit. He could see himself sharing an apartment with someone, kissing them just for the fun of it rather than to coerce sexual favors. He wasn't thinking of getting married and having 2.5 kids and a dog or anything - well, maybe the dog - but that much he could see. And he supposed, if he tried, he could see Castiel as that other person. Which even he knew was pretty weird for someone he'd met less than two hours ago.

"Umm... That was not where I expected you to go with that." It came out like an apology, which was just ridiculous. It wasn't Cas' fault that his mouth tried to solve his loneliness before he was even ready to admit that it was there. He shrugged it off, pushing his awkwardly-domestic thoughts to the back of his mind.

"Nah, don't worry about it. 'S been known to happen sometimes. Depressing drunks and whatnot." He tried to dismiss the awkward statement. It worked for the most part, at least enough to get Cas' lips back on his, and they rolled around in the sheets for a few moments, giving and taking dominance, until Dean's hand slid down to the button on Castiel's jeans. When the only reaction was a moan and a soft thrust of the hips against his hand, he made quick work of the fastenings and pushed the cloth over the man's slim hips.

Cas was packing, much in the way of his lithe body, more than anyone would expect just from looking at him. Seriously, the guy was pretty and compact, but packing the heat of a porn star under his clothes. Dean swore the guy was put on this Earth just to pleasantly surprise him. Which was just a little too reminiscent of his awkward committed thoughts, so he pushed it to the back of his mind to physically appreciate Cas' bared skin.

Personally, he lived for nothing more than the sound of Cas' breath catching in his throat, the sighed _ohh yes_ that the guy let out when Dean's lips circled his cock. After the initial shock wore off, he could feel when Cas' neck strained to hold his head up, his eyes trained with intensity so sharp it was practically a touch on Dean. Flashing his own not-unstunning green eyes up to the other man's face through his lashes, he hollowed his cheeks, smiling as much as possible around his mouthful when Castiel groaned, breaking eye contact as his head hit the pillow again.

There was something about sucking a guy off that Dean had always found nothing short of fucking hot. With a capital 'H'. He'd honestly never understood what people thought was so demeaning about it - you held a guy at your mercy with your lips around him; he would literally do just about anything for you. Plus, the view was incredibly hot from this angle.

"Dean, oh my - ah!" He particularly enjoyed the incoherency when he did something right. And Cas was full of commendations in some sex language that certainly wasn't English. One of his hands shot down on a particularly hard suck to run through Dean's hair, tugging whenever he could get a grip on the short blond strands.

Once Castiel had fully dissolved into nonsensical pairings of mostly vowel sounds, and rocking his hips and grabbing with desperate hands, Dean pulled off, resisting the pull of those hands. Instead, he attached his lips to a pale hipbone as he finished removing Cas' jeans. He didn't know when, but Cas had kicked off his shoes, making the job a whole lot easier. When the jeans finally hit the floor, socks following in quick succession, he allowed Castiel's grabby hands to drag him back up the man's body. He met Cas' mouth happily, turned on more than a little by the guy's eagerness to taste his own musky tang on Dean's tongue.

"I don't think I've ever wanted anything this much." He wasn't too pleased that Castiel rediscovered English while he fumbled with his jeans button, but he was too busy with that dilemma to worry about kissing away logical words. Besides, he was in no way opposed to what Cas was choosing to use his vocabulary for, especially when Cas' hands joined him in shoving his remaining clothing down his legs.

The freedom was nice but left him desperately wishing for the friction his clothes had provided. Castiel proved adept at aroused problem solving by wrapping a fist around Dean and allowing him to thrust up into it. Dean groaned, moving his lips back to Cas'.

"Told ya. Feels good to let loose, huh?" He responded once he pulled away. He was at that awkward phase between teasing and demanding to sate his burning arousal, now. Talking during this phase of his alcohol-enhanced encounters never ended well, but then he never could stop himself.

"Would feel better if you'd just shut the hell up and _make_ me loose." And _holy shit_ if that wasn't the single hottest sentence anyone had ever said to him. He groaned and sealed his lips over Castiel's again.

"Dean, I swear I'm going to get up and leave if you don't start soon." Cas gasped out when his lips were once again free. His hands had fallen to Dean's hips, where Dean was pretty sure he'd have bruises tomorrow shaped like fingers. Their hips were rocking in that primal dance everyone knew, bare skin sliding against bare skin sinuously. Regretting it every step of the way, Dean pulled his own hips back despite Castiel's new protests, allowing room for his hand to slide in. Cas quieted as his fingers started lightly tracing invisible patterns into his thighs.

Cas grunted lowly, jerking his hips as though to force Dean to give him more. Smirking lightly at Cas' lightning-fast progression from concerned citizen to wanton bottom, Dean held back, continuing to trace the same patterns over the same skin even after Castiel's legs fell open for him.

"Dean!" The angry, forceful tone had his eyes snapping up to meet Castiel's. The other man's lips were drawn tight into a thin scowl, his eyes flashing in irritation. Dean smiled charmingly, leaving his thighs momentarily to retrieve the lube and a condom from the bedside table. He could feel Cas' eyes following him the whole way.

Leaving the condom on the table for now, he popped the lid on the lube. Just the sound itself had a shiver running through Cas' extremities, and he spread his legs minutely wider around Dean's knees. Dean coated his fingers liberally, rubbing them together to warm the cold liquid - there was no bigger turn off than cold lube, as far as he was concerned. And Cas being anything but turned on didn't mesh well with his plans. He snapped the bottle closed and dropped it within reach on the bed.

"You sure?" Yeah, he was aware that he'd been the one pushing for this to happen, but still. He didn't want Cas here if the guy wasn't going to enjoy it - sex was a two-player game. Though with the way his thighs were spread and his hips were rocking, the chances of Cas not liking it were slim to none.

"Yes Dean, I'm sure." Castiel replied, a hint of disbelief in his voice, as if he couldn't quite believe that Dean had waited until now to make sure that he was okay with this. Dean disregarded the tone and took the words as his cue to resume stroking his thighs with his dry hand. It did the trick of distracting Cas from his other hand, which was hovering a couple of inches away from the tightly clenched muscles between his legs.

Castiel's whole body seemed to jerk, freezing up at first contact. His eyes opened wide to stare at Dean, his mouth falling open into a loose 'o'. Dean smiled at the sight, dextrously using one finger to massage the muscles in circular motions while another pressed lightly into the hole, sinking slowly in to the first knuckle before he stopped.

"Dean." He wouldn't have expected the high-pitched whine that came from Castiel, and it ran delicious shivers down his spine. He could feel Castiel's inner muscles working around his finger, trying to pull him deeper. Cas whimpered when he didn't move, and Dean smiled up at his desperate, lust-darkened eyes.

"Enough teasing, Dean. I'm more than ready for this." Cas rolled his hips, brow furrowing in frustration. Dean let out a huff that was almost a snort but not quite.

"Oh please; you're nowhere near ready - still tight as a virgin around me, and trust me, I'm a hell of a lot bigger than one finger. And sweetheart, I don't know how _not_ to tease in bed. Teasing is my specialty." With that, he slid the finger in until the webbing of his hand allowed no more. Castiel let out a pleased gasp and Dean smiled down at him.

It didn't take long at all before he was pumping three fingers in and out of Castiel, the dark-haired beauty grinding on them and making all manner of noise like some porno angel. He didn't think he'd ever slept with someone so vocal before; it was just another surprise he definitely appreciated.

"Oh God yes! Dean; shit. Shit shit _shit_..." Castiel cried out when Dean curled his fingers up and found the bundle of nerves that would drive him crazy. Dean held back a groan at the slew of profanity as Cas ground down with renewed vigour on his fingers. He certainly hadn't been expecting the cursing - Castiel hadn't seemed like that kind of guy. Then again, most of his first impressions of Cas had been wrong, so who was he to judge? Either way, it had him working his fingers out, much to Cas' very vocal displeasure.

"Dean, please. I need-" Castiel cut off with a long moan as Dean wrapped a distracting hand around his cock, which was beyond starving for attention at this point. Luckily, Dean had long since learned the art of telling how much was _too much_, because guys couldn't just keep going like girls could, and he was desperate to get inside Cas, like yesterday.

He tore open the condom while still pumping Castiel loosely, not giving enough to get the guy anywhere. He was surprised again - not to mention incredibly turned on - when Cas took the latex from him and rolled it slowly over Dean's hard flesh. Sure, he'd had other people put condoms on him before, but he didn't think anyone had ever done it with the level of sensuality that Cas did. With the others, it had been a necessity, but Cas treated it like it was a blessing he was allowed to do so. Dean barely resisted the urge to buck his hips hard into the other man's hands, coming to the abstract realization that there was a lot he barely resisted with Cas.

"Come here." Cas' voice was sex-wrecked, broken and rough already before they'd done much of anything. He wiggled a bit, shuffling up against Dean's pillows and dragging Dean after him.

Castiel somehow got a hold of the lube and covered a hand with it before tossing it somewhere. Dean hoped vaguely that it was closed, but it was a bit difficult to care while Cas wrapped his lubed hand around his hot, straining length. He bit his lip against a groan, but it was no use. Although he would have much preferred the treatment without the condom, he wasn't stupid - or drunk - enough to think that unprotected sex with a stranger was a good idea. Cas' slick hand twisted against the his head just then, and all higher thinking was blown away.

"Fuck, Cas..." He felt the name drag on unnaturally long from his lips, but he couldn't control it, nor did he feel any real desire to. Instead, he tried to get his hips to Castiel's. He grew frustrated when Castiel hindered, rather than helped, him.

"Asshole." He murmured as he noticed the self-satisfied smirk on Castiel's lips. Cas' only response was to tighten his fist on a particularly slow upstroke. Dean groaned, which seemed to be the reaction his partner desired, as his smirk only grew.

"You're far too busy with words, Dean - I'm not even sure you want this that much. How much do you want me?" Castiel's low voice rasped out, teasing Dean to an even harder stiffness. Dean let out a gasp at the brazen request for dirty talk, again not having expected such a thing from the other man. He really should have learned to drop all expectations at this point.

"Fuck, I want you so bad; fucking _need_ you. You wanna feel me in you, riding you hard?" Never let it be said that he was one to disappoint - Dean was very well-rounded when it came to the bedroom, and talking was a pretty typical request. Because he was no passive partner either, he worked his hand past Castiel's between them, sinking his fingers into him again. Groaning, Castiel's hand tightened around him as his hips worked below, trying to get more of him in the awkward position.

"Oh God yes. So ready for you, Dean. _Please_ don't make me beg." The tone alone was nearly enough to set him off, so clearly already begging, desperate to be filled by Dean. Dean could hardly believe how much he wanted it; the guy acted like he hadn't had sex in years. He carefully removed his fingers and forcefully knocked Castiel's hand out of the way.

Normally, he'd come to some type of agreement on position, but there was simply no time for discussion or rearranging now. Wrapping his hands around the back of Castiel's knees, he lifted them up and tugged Cas down the meager bedspread to line himself up with the pale, pliant flesh beneath him. Pressing into the leaner man, he bit his tongue to hold back a rough groan as he slid in with almost no resistance - he'd done a good job prepping Castiel.

"Oh God." Not bothering at all with any form of filter, Cas let out a slew of disjointed words, none of it making the slightest amount of sense especially after he dissolved into basic sounds, not even forming words anymore. Dean honestly couldn't tell if they were good noises or bad noises, but the way Castiel's hands clamped onto his shoulders and his hips bucked into his gave him a clue that they were probably good. He pulled out a little only to slam back in simply to savor the reaction.

"Told you so, yeah?" He couldn't even force out a whole teasing statement. His brain was too muddled by alcohol and sex, the body around him far too welcoming and tight. He grunted, giving another hard thrust into Cas. The man moaned his approval, his head falling back to rest on Dean's pillow.

"Shut up, Dean." Cas groaned. Dean was vaguely surprised that he could still manage words. He'd typically take some sort of offense to being told to shut up in his own bed, but he honestly didn't give a rat's ass at this point. Attaching his mouth to the alabaster skin of Castiel's shoulder, he did as told, snapping his hips somewhat violently against Cas'.

Pants and moans and grunts filled the room for an indeterminable amount of time as Dean's hips slowly built up speed and Castiel ground down onto him in return. He was certainly the least passive bottom Dean had ever had before - he responded with vigour, refusing to simply take what he got. He wrapped a leg around Dean's hips when Dean pressed the other thigh out and down to the bed, allowing himself more room and a better angle. Castiel's moans grew louder and higher in pitch at that point, so he figured he must be doing something right. The nails that clawed down his back were no small hint, either.

"Oh yes. Unh, there, right there. Dean. I'm so close; so..." He couldn't even finish the sentence, and Dean could feel him barely hanging onto lucidity. He'd apparently found the right spot, and since he was close himself, he wrapped his hands around Castiel's thighs to use them as leverage. He set a bruising pace, almost gasping for breath as he pounded into the tight heat that was Castiel. It didn't take long for him to reach that precipice, and as soon as he did, he wrapped a hand around Castiel's hard flesh between them. Cas' body snapped, locking up around him as he came over Dean's hand and onto his own chest, so hard that no noise escaped his open mouth. Dean followed him over the edge, burying his head in Castiel's neck, groaning sharply against the flushed skin.

When he came back to his senses, Dean sat up. The faded blue bedding fell to his waist, barely moving from where it covered Castiel's fully-clothed form. Cas' face was peaceful, seemingly sleeping. He knew better, though.

"Cas, that was..." He didn't quite know how to describe it. Much like every other time, it left him breathless, disoriented. Castiel sat up next to him, fixing him with that signature intense stare.

"I told you, did I not? The visions can be used for your happiness, Dean; Zachariah was cruel and certainly did not have your best interests at heart when he used them for his own purposes." Castiel said, leaning into Dean. The bed dipped between them, causing Dean to slide even closer on the questionable motel sheets.

"Well yeah, but I mean... That wasn't even... I mean, you were in it. And you weren't _you_. Whenever Zach the Angel Dick was in them, he was always... himself? I don't know how to describe it man, their _your_ vision things." He ran a hand through his hair. He hated those visions.

To be fair, it was his own fault this time. God only knew how they'd got talking about them, but Cas had denied his claim that they only brought pain. Cas had said that they were gifts from the angels, and when used properly, they brought happiness, peace, knowledge, whatever. So Dean, being Dean, had challenged him to construct one for him. Cas didn't even want to, but Dean had forced him to prove his point, and then they'd been off. It was kind of amazing how quickly Cas had spun a whole world, actually.

"Dean, I control the vision quest. It is a relatively simple task to lock away enough of my grace to control the vision should anything wrong begin to happen, and then allow the rest of me to become simply another character in the vision. Were you not happy at the end of the vision? It does require quite a bit of knowledge of the soul in question, but I had assumed I'd known enough to please you - perhaps I was wrong..." Dean honestly couldn't let Cas continue on, his blue eyes dark and downcast like that. He laid a hand on Cas' shoulder, resting his forehead against the angel's. Cas looked up at him with apologetic eyes.

"No, Cas. You were right. I was happy. It just caught me off guard how you went about it." He never liked to admit he was wrong. However, this was Cas - if he didn't, his angel would automatically assume he'd done something wrong, and Dean couldn't stand watching Cas try to fix something he hadn't broken. Cas was always contrite and sad to the point of depression when he thought he was in the wrong, and it was hard to watch even when he actually was - Dean wondered if it didn't have something to do with his grace or something like that; like sorrowful angels were too beautiful to look at or some shit. Not that Dean would ever admit to using the word 'beautiful' to describe Cas.

"It surprised you? Did you not think that I would give you Sam, happy with Jessica? Or Bobby alive? I did as much as I could to give you all of what you should have, all of what I cannot give you in reality." Cas didn't seem to understand, and he flicked like a switch to heartbreakingly contrite to adorably confused - adorable being another word that Dean would not admit to using, ever.

"Nah, that's... Not what I'm talking about, Cas." He kissed Cas to stop him from asking anymore questions. The angel knew he was happy, and as usual that was all he really needed to know to give him peace or whatever. He laid back down, curling Dean between his arms protectively, as though he could keep all the monsters and the demons and the dick angels out of Dean's life if he only held him close enough. Dean thought it was a little annoying while also being adorable, most days. Today, he was only happy that Cas didn't continue questioning him.

How did you explain to the one you love - a damn _angel_, of all things - that the thing that surprised you was your own instinctual commitment? It hadn't even been real, and he couldn't tell if Cas had even noticed it. He wouldn't have been surprised if Cas had constructed some world where his family was still alive and he and Lisa were happily married and Ben was his kid - it was actually sort of what he'd been expecting. He certainly hadn't been expecting Cas to write himself into Dean's little fantasy world, and beyond that, he hadn't been anticipating the automatic urge to keep Cas around. He didn't even _know_ him in the vision, but he'd felt that connection, that _whatever_ that made him want to bind himself to Cas and never let go. And if he was being honest with himself, _that_ was what terrified him about this vision. Suddenly, he remembered how Cas had pacified vision-him in the first place.

"Hey. In the vision, your brother... You really miss Gabriel, huh?" He felt awkward talking about it, but so long as it steered him away from his own thoughts, nothing was too awkward. Cas, apparently, disagreed. He shuffled anxiously next to Dean, something he rarely did unless he was upset.

"His is my brother, Dean. Think about all of the times Sam has been in danger. He was one of the few brothers who saw reason when Heaven was trying to end the world, and use you in the process. I am... Upset by his passing, yes. He was a role model, once I realized that he had not simply run away." Cas' speech was stilted, and Dean wondered if the guy knew how to cry. He certainly didn't feel like fessing up to basically being the reason Cas' big brother was dead, even though he knew that they was really no other way that he and Sam would have survived that whole deal. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Well, y'know. When we have some down time, I'm sure it wouldn't be too difficult for you. Y'know. Gabriel seems like he'd be a fun kind of guy at Thanksgiving, maybe Christmas dinner. Bobby the mechanic and Jess the take-no-shit fiancé seem like they mesh well with him." And really, there was no way in Hell that he was gonna invite himself to more visions in a more obvious way than that. The fact that he was telling Cas that he was okay with them was ridiculous enough. And he was shit at comforting people, anyway - he didn't know how to even start comforting an angel. Thankfully, Cas seemed to know what he was saying.

"Thank you, Dean. That is very kind, coming from you." Cas' arms tightened minutely around him, and he couldn't even muster a grumble of annoyance at the closer embrace. He just rolled his eyes, turning onto his side and draping an arm over Cas' waist. It was as affectionate as he got, even when falling asleep. And if he woke up completely wrapped around the angel, in much the same protective manner as Cas upheld as he fell asleep, well - nobody really needed to know about that aside from himself and the angel.

* * *

AN: Holy crap. I have to be completely honest; even I didn't see that end coming. No, seriously - I was still writing the sex, and suddenly my mind's just like "Hey, what if this is a vision. Oh and hey, what if it's a vision that Cas is giving him?" and I was just like OHMYGOD. There's really no set time for this to be happening, I guess any time after Bobby dies. They could even be in purgatory maybe, I dunno. Certainly a possibility.

Well, don't waste time, tell me what you think! You guys are always so great, I just love writing for you! Besides, I desperately need someone to make me happy: Just last night I was watching 1Girl 5 Gays on LOGO and I realized that a gay guy would be my perfect boyfriend, and doesn't that just make it totally unfair that I have a vagina? UGH.


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